


Where the Road Leads: Interludes and Continuations

by Fontainebleau



Series: Where the Road Leads [4]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 17:29:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12370539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fontainebleau/pseuds/Fontainebleau
Summary: Short fics set in 'Where the Road Leads' verse, imported from tumblr.1. Bearskin2. When I Look at You





	1. Bearskin

The exchange from _I Know A Bank Where the Wild Thyme Grows_ :

 _You know what this means?_  
_That we shouldn’t be listening?_  
_No! It means I won my bet after all._  
_My bearskin._  
_Our bearskin. Which you are currently using._  
_I need that fur, Billy. I’m still a sick man._  
_Forget it: it’s mine. I’m going to sleep under it naked and make you watch._  
_You’re a truly callous man, Billy Rocks._

And what happened next…

 

Goodnight lay and considered his next move; this situation was going to take a certain amount of finesse. It had come about through his own carelessness, he freely admitted, caught out in a moment of weakness. Billy was nothing if not cunning.

Initially he had seemed in no hurry to collect his prize: the heavy brown fur lay spread over Goodnight’s side of the bed as usual, and he had expected Billy to scoop it up, announcing, ‘Mine,’ but Billy simply ignored it, and Goodnight too where he sat on the edge of the mattress. 

Instead he stretched, perhaps rather too theatrically, and, fixing Goodnight with a level black gaze, began to unbutton his vest. He took it off and tossed it onto the chair, then bent down to pull his boots off, one at a time. Goodnight, distracted, left his own vest half undone and watched as Billy unhitched his suspenders and made a start on his shirt. Even after all this time, a sight like this never failed to set the blood thudding in his veins.

He slowly worked his way down the buttons, revealing the hard muscles of his chest, then let it slip from his shoulders. As he bent to lay it on top of his vest, Goodnight swallowed dryly. Billy, his gaze never wavering, dropped his hands to the buttons of his pants. Goodnight swallowed again, conscious of his growing arousal, but Billy suddenly stopped, turned his back and instead began working at the knot that held his hair. As it fell loose down his back Goodnight growled low in his throat, and Billy turned to face him again, lips twitching. Then he locked his eyes on Goodnight’s, unfastened each button with deliberate slowness, and stepped out of his pants. Hands on the waistband of his drawers, he paused once more, then stripped neatly out of them and stood naked in the lamplight.

Goodnight drank in the sight of him, something he could never tire of: the dark hair falling over his shoulders, the smooth planes of his body, the play of muscles under the skin, his tantalising nakedness. Billy took a step towards him and Goodnight slid backwards on the bed to make room, raising a hand to touch his chest as Billy leaned towards him – then seized the fur and rolled over with it to the other side of the bed. ‘Billy! You bastard!’ cried Goodnight, but Billy simply wrapped himself up in the fur, positively writhing underneath it.

‘It’s so soft,’ he purred, ‘so silky, and I can feel it all over.’ He stretched himself from head to toe, luxuriating, and wound the bearskin around himself, one arm emerging to caress from fur to naked skin and back again. ‘You monster,’ said Goodnight, but Billy sighed languidly and asked, ‘Did you say something? I was distracted…’ Goodnight made a lunge for him, but Billy exclaimed, ‘Oh no,’ squirmed out of his reach and curled himself further into the fur. ‘Your rash bet, remember?’ He rolled over, rubbing the fur against his skin, golden limbs contrasting with the brown pelt, and lay looking unspeakably smug, occasionally shifting with little murmurs of pleasure. 

Goodnight now considered his options. Fighting for possession of the fur seemed superficially attractive, but he suspected Billy was too committed to lose easily, and there were also his healing injuries to consider. No, force probably wouldn’t work. Persuasion? Again, unlikely: being naked under the fur presented such an attractive proposition that other inducements would have to be significant. Simply waiting until Billy went to sleep and working his way in next to him might or might not work: the investment of time was required was offputting. Lateral thinking, though, might yet succeed where a direct approach would fail.

‘Fairly won, cher, in both senses: I have to concede defeat,’ he announced, standing up to turn out the lamp. He waited a moment or two, hearing Billy shift in the dark with contented stretches and sighs, then took off his boots, letting each fall with a decisive thud. He unbuttoned his vest, unfastened his watch and set it down, pouring the chain beside it with a metallic rattle, took out his cufflinks and dropped them one by one into their dish with a clink. He shook out his pants with a snap before folding them, then sat back down on the edge of the bed to strip off his shirt sleeve by sleeve, followed by his underwear, the straw mattress rustling beneath him. Then he lay down on his back on top of the quilt, hands behind his head, and waited.

Several minutes passed in silence, until Goodnight felt movement beside him as a warm hand reached out to touch his leg. It travelled slowly up his thigh and over the crease of his hip, where it paused. ‘Get under the quilt, Goody.’

‘Nope,’ said Goodnight, ‘I lost my fur fair and square, so I’ll lie here without it. You go ahead and enjoy it.’ 

The hand trailed over his stomach as Billy said, ‘I am not falling for this act. Get under the quilt.’ 

‘No,’ said Goodnight, with implacable calm. The hand vanished and he felt Billy turn over, pulling the fur with him, but Goodnight stayed motionless on his back, his skin gradually cooling in the light draft which flowed across the room. Residual heat lingered underneath him, but he began to feel distinctly cold and had to resist the temptation to curl in on himself. Billy lay equally still beside him, still alert: Goodnight could tell from his breathing. The draft seemed to become stronger, playing across his stomach, or perhaps it was only his stillness that made it seem so.

‘Goody, you’re being ridiculous!’ Movement again, and a hand touched his chest, shockingly hot in comparison to his chilly skin. 

His first reaction was to press the star of heat over his heart, but instead he plucked it off. ‘What’s the matter, cher? Aren’t you enjoying yourself?’ Billy’s hand abruptly withdrew and he let out a disgusted huff. Goodnight, sensing the distant scent of victory, waited it out, steeling himself against the discomfort. Eventually, by now genuinely cold, he felt his skin turn to gooseflesh, and an involuntary shiver ran through him. ‘You swine,’ said Billy, rolling back over and suddenly engulfing him in a torrent of fur and heated limbs. ‘You _swine_.’ He hissed as Goodnight wound his arms and legs tight around him, glorying in the heat and the brush of soft fur, nuzzling his face into Billy’s neck. ‘You don’t deserve this,’ said Billy, though his arms wrapping around Goodnight’s back said otherwise. 

‘Warm me up, Billy,’ pleaded Goodnight, and Billy hauled himself right on top of him, dragging the fur with him, settling along the whole length of his body. Goodnight dug his fingers into his back to pull him closer, the flush of heat seeping miraculously back into every part of him. ‘Are you ashamed?’ asked Goodnight, ‘Making such an exhibition of yourself?’ 

‘No,’ said Billy, worming his hips against him unrepentantly. ‘Are you? Lying there all pitiful to make me feel sorry for you?’

‘Not one bit,’ said Goodnight, dipping his head to nip at Billy’s throat. ‘How about we say equal shares?’ 

He licked up to Billy’s jaw, fingers seeking out a nipple to feel him jump. And Billy laughed and said against his lips: ‘Equal shares.’


	2. When I Look at You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brought over from tumblr at Villa-Kulla's request! There is also some lovely art from the fabulous lostthehat [here](https://fontainebleau22.tumblr.com/post/157725554844/when-i-look-at-you)

Billy climbed down from the wagon, package under one arm. ‘See you Thursday,’ he called, ‘and tell Josh he won’t be pulling the same stunt as last week. We’re onto him.’

Vasquez slapped the reins and laughed. ‘He’s already thought up a new one. Prepare to be cleaned out one more time!’

Billy raised his hand in thanks for the lift and set off down the path to where the low house lay in the shelter of the cottonwoods. It wasn’t as though he needed a wagon ride from town – he was still perfectly capable of walking, but as the years had crept up, a little assistance at the end of the day was shamefully welcome.

Instead of going in the front door he walked around the side of the house, past the newly-dug bed where Sam’s boys were competing to raise the tallest sunflower, and round to the back porch where he knew Goody would be at this time of day. He found him just as expected, gazing out across the plain to the distant hills, spectacles laid on top of his papers and coffeecup on the table next to him. 

Goodnight turned at his approaching step. ‘Successful trip?’ he asked, with the same dazzling smile that made Billy’s heart turn over, no matter how many times he saw it.

‘Yes,’ said Billy, ‘saw to the livery business, and called on Trent about the mine. Got us some good Tennessee whisky as well.’

‘I’ll fetch some glasses,’ said Goodnight, making to rise, but Billy held out the paper-wrapped package and said more hesitantly, ‘And I bought you a present.’

‘Any occasion?’ asked Goodnight, concern crossing his features. ‘Not something I should have remembered?’

‘No,’ said Billy cautiously, ‘just something I thought you needed.’ As Goodnight started to open it he said hastily, ‘I’ll go get the glasses,’ and ducked inside, suddenly uncertain of his own judgement.

 

When he returned, glasses in hand, Goodnight was shaking out a fine new wool vest, a look of puzzlement on his face. ‘A new vest?’ Thank you, cher, it’s most suitable, but there really wasn’t any need.’

Billy took a deep breath. He’d tried to prepare for Goody’s reaction, but clearly this was going to be tricky. ‘I know you favour navy, so I bought it the same; you can change your lapel pins over…’

Goodnight looked even more perplexed. ‘Well, yes, but perhaps I should keep it for Sundays until this one’s seen a bit more wear …’

Billy swallowed. There was going to be no easy way here. ‘It’s a size larger.’

Goodnight blinked, and they both looked down at the vest he was wearing, creased horizontally where straining buttonholes showed the pale shirt beneath. ‘Are you saying – ’

‘It’ll be more comfortable. And more expanse to show off your watchchain,’ said Billy firmly.

‘- I’m fat?’ finished Goodnight, fixing him with a deadly glare.

‘I’m saying your vest is too small,’ said Billy, staring him down. Goodnight broke first, lips twitching, and they dissolved into laughter together.

 

‘I am fat,’ announced Goodnight solemnly. ‘I’m fat, and what hair I still have is white, and I sigh whenever I sit down. Why you stay with me I don’t know.’

Billy settled into the chair next to him and gazed at him affectionately. ‘Have you looked at me lately? Billy Rocks, terrifying knifeman, is now Billy Rocks, elderly Asian gentleman. I have brown spots on the back of my hands, and my shoulder gives me trouble when it rains.’

Goodnight reached for the bottle and poured two glasses, saying contemplatively, ‘Perhaps I should shave off my beard to make myself look younger.’

‘Rule still applies,’ warned Billy instantly, ‘shave off your beard and I cut my hair.’

‘You’ve been threatening me with that for twenty-five years,’ said Goodnight, reaching across to run a stray strand through his fingers. ‘I don’t believe you would.’

‘Try it and find out,’ said Billy, leaning over for a soft kiss and the reassuring scratch of a grey beard.

 

‘Thank you, Billy,’ said Goodnight. ‘I appreciate it. For saving me from ridicule.’

‘No one would dare ridicule you,’ said Billy, ‘and we’re all trying to age as gracefully as we can. Even Sam’s pretty grizzled these days. Though Vasquez does seem to be the exception – some kind of Mexican witchcraft, it must be. He gave me a lift back from town and I swear he was looking at me like I was his grandfather.’

Goodnight laughed. ‘Really, Billy.’ They sat back, drinks in hand, in the evening sun and Goodnight’s eyes grew soft as he gazed at him. ‘Looking at you is my favourite occupation, and when I do, I don’t see an elderly Asian gentleman. I see the wild prizefighter I first met in Texas, so handsome I thought I might die there and then; I see the suspicious stranger who rode out with me for that first year. I see my love Billy when we finally found each other. I see the hero fighting Bogue’s men in the smoke and flames, and I see the pale-faced ghost with the bleeding gut wound who got up from his sickbed to find me in mine, and that is still the single most welcome sight of my entire life. I see you the day we finished this house, taking my hand to walk into our home; I see you sitting down at the creek fishing with Sam’s boys when they were small; and I see you as you were this morning, putting on your hat to go out. When I look at you I see our whole life together.’

Billy felt his throat close at the naked devotion in Goodnight’s face and the flood of memories conjured by his words. Speaking his love had never come easily to him, but as he looked at the man beside him he saw exactly what he meant, and his answer flowed effortlessly from his lips. 

‘And I see our life in you. I see you skinny and jittery when we first met, sitting on your fancy horse, talking, talking, talking like I’d never heard a man talk before; I see the look on your face when you watched me and didn’t think I knew; I see you angry, standing up for me in a hundred boarding-houses and saloons. I see you shooting like a demon from the belltower; I see you in shirt-sleeves all sweated, working beside me to build this place; and I see the proper gentleman holding forth on politics in town meeting.’ He brings a hand to touch Goodnight’s cheek. ‘Same blue eyes, though. Never could resist those.’

‘We’ve been so lucky,’ said Goodnight, voice cracking slightly. ‘All these years. Some near misses, for you and for me. I’m grateful for every second of it.’

Billy took his hand. ‘I would never have guessed that my life would be this way,’ his gesture taking in the house, the town, the plain glowing in the setting sun and the two of them together on the porch, ‘and sometimes I still can’t believe that I get to have it with you.’

‘I love you, Billy,’ said Goodnight softly, ‘did I ever tell you that?’ 

Billy stood up, took his other hand and tugged him to his feet, ‘I love you too, old man, and a hundred years with you would never be enough.’ He wrapped his arms around him, feeling not just flesh and bone, but the weight of years and memory in his embrace, and he rested his chin on his shoulder to murmur, ‘Let’s hope we still have a few more years to come. And you can get as fat as you like, you know, as long as you keep the beard.’

**Author's Note:**

> Speak to me: fontainebleau22.tumblr.com


End file.
